I'm really sorry I didn't get this up earlier, i've had a bunch of problems on my comuter for weeks now plus I was being a lazy person and kept putting it off BUT NOT ANYMORE since I'm writing a few chapters tonight to cover for the next couple of days.

Once I had gotten on my feet, the rest flew by. Rooms full of colors and art were behind me now, passing by as if I was teleporting.
I was in a complete daze, thinking about Garry. I felt horrible. Sadness from the fact that I forgot him.
As I went from room to room, passing mannequins and the ladies in red,
that pain soon turned to a complete need to find him.
He may be alright.
He could be there.
He might have been waiting for me all this time.
right?
I wasn't tempted to leave until I found out.

As i walked in the sketchbook city, something made me think.
'the forgotten portrait' was still in the museum, right?
Well, wouldn't that mean that he was still alive here?
Since the other artwork was alive in this world, doesn't that mean Garry lives as well?

I felt relief start to grow the more I thought.
but was that just hope?
I hoped not.

the black paper sky was still above my head, as I grabbed the plastic key, and walkd out to smeell the crayon grass, and feel the light warmth of the crayon sun.
Slipping the key into the lock, I walked in the room, and daringly jumped into the toybox, as the room had altered back since I left.

As the furious toys shooed me around, I found the door in the semi-lit room, and ran u the stairs, the toys lost and not daring to follow.

reaching the top, I braced myself for what I was about to see.
Was he there?
was he ok?

I suddenly felt too scared to know.
The dolls hadn't frightened me.
The raging red women hadn't scared me.
The mannequins feisty grip never startled me.

this frightened me.
This scared me.
this startled me.

I anxiously took one brief step forward, eyes closed as I sharply turned the corner.
One eye slowly opening, I dared to look up.

I sucked in a tight breath as I looked in fear at the stone cold wall with no body lying against it.
Where?
Where...was he?

now I had a different fear.

But nonetheless, I ran as fast as I could, warily staring at every corned I could as Iran up the stairs to Mary's chamber.
Nothing but a cold feeling haunted me as I walked up those stairs.

Mary's "Loves me," and "loves me not" in her sinful tone, whispering in my brain, I gathered up my strength and opened the door.
Sure, I didn't expect there to be much. I didn't wonder about more than a few blue dolls and books about friends, and maybe her diary.
What I did find though was a sharp, frozen palette knife as well.

I grabbed it, and stared at it coldly. I don't forgive you Mary.

I felt my hands shaking as it ran through my head, and tears started to bubble in my eyes.
It's your fault!
All yours!

but it wasn't. and I knew that.

I dropped the palette knife, and got up. I rummaged through her books, her diary, and her dolls with care.
Staring at the one thing that I didn't move, I got up, as a thought crossed my mind.

I pulled at the painting, the cold, lifeless painting i had burned those years ago. It could have been something behind this, right? I had never checked all those years ago.
I didn't have the strength or the time to tear it off, and after it was over, I didn't think I had to.

Gripping at the edges, i pulled as hard as I could, as the nails around it fell off, and remaining glass cut me.
"Ouch!" I winced.

for Garry, it's worth a few scratches.

I tugged at it again, this time with the palette knife acting as a crowbar, pulling from under it. I pulled at the black wood, and pulled more. I could feel the pain in my hands, and I could feel my rose slightly dehydrate from the little pain.
With one last grip at it, I ripped it off the wall, and fell on my back. luckily on on the glass.

moving it aside, I smiled to myself.
Garry, I did it!

It wasn't over yet. I still had to find Garry myself.
I looked up at the hole with an ounce of wonder and a lot of fear.
there was a hole behind it.
and as a cold breeze flooded through it, I questioned what was on the other side.

Standing up, I looked above it. The cold breeze felt like snow on my face, an icy wind from a winter one year that I remember.
I was scared of the unknown, but that wouldn't stop me.

Pulling at the sides of the wall, I hauled myself up. Being in a skirt and doing this was difficult, but I could live with it. As I sat on the brim of the middle wall, I threw it all away as I hoped for a floor beneath me-as I jumped below.
It was deeper.
Too deep.
There wasn't a floor, was there?
I had barely let out a scream before I felt my legs stumble on gravity under myself.
I had hit the floor hard.
And I didn't even have a light to show me where to go.

willing up my courage, I got up again.
I felt along the walls, hoping to not run into a painting that would chase me, or attempt to eat me in the defenseless dark.

I winced, waiting for a pain as I felt a bump on the wall.
A... button of some sort.
was it worth a risk?

The situation was still frightening, and I had already been feeling around it, careful not to push it.
Though a second later, I did find a chord.
Would a cord work?

The iron chain felt strange beneath my fingers, but I felt a relief when I pulled it, and a warming light flickered on.

The room was still cold though.
It was also a large room, with a shade of black.
It was a square room, that was very tall. I couldn't tell the color of the ceiling, since it was higher than the hole where I came from, which I could also see from here.
A bright light from the corner of the room now illuminated the whole place better.
There were paintings all around the room too, surrounded on the floor by red ropes.

I was lucky I had pulled that switch. Who knows what the other one would have done.

I discreetly walked over to the other paintings, looking them over.

I had noticed the lady in red first, and felt the urge to run. but- it looked cold. Lifeless.

I walked over to it, my steps echoing.
I grazed my fingeres over the grainy paint, and surprise went through me when I noticed it felt cold and lifeless too.

It wasn't there.
A replica?
Surely not the real thing.
I walked through the sound of my shoes clicking.

'worry'
'fleeting thoughts on a moonlit night'
'serpent's spirit'
'selfless guard'
'horizon view'
'fleeting thoughts on a moonlit night'
'reserved seat'
'your dark figure'
'abyss of the deep'
'the hanged man'
'heart wounds'
'eternal blessing'
'untitled'
'mannequin face'
'milk puzzle'
'fleeting thoughts on a moonlit night'

They were all there.
even the sculptures, surprisingly.
But all on a painting.

These weren't the originals, right?

reserved seat' was never a painting! Yet here it was...

It was a puzzle.
It all made sense now.

Why would their be a room with every artwork from the gallery?
That wasn't out to harm?

But I have to choose wisely...

I walked around the large room, eyeing the last of the paintings.
then-a blank canvas.

or-wait.
I glimpsed closer, to see the layer flimsy, resting on top of a painting.

Without crossing the red preventing line, I tugged at the cover, to find my heart had stopped once it came off.
It was...

"the forgotten portrait"